


too busy being yours

by xxcaribbean



Category: One Direction (Band), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxcaribbean/pseuds/xxcaribbean
Summary: slight inception au // after an extraction, liam and harry must leave in case their mark realizes what they’ve done and comes after them. splitting up makes it easier for them to hide in plain sight. however, liam being level-headed is both a gift and a curse when he realizes that maybe being on their own isn’t the best of ideas, not because they’re in immediate danger, but because harry is practically an extension of him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [henloes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/henloes/gifts).



Becoming an international criminal wasn’t necessarily on the list of ‘things to do,’ but Liam’s gotten used to life fucking things up for him and Harry playing devil’s advocate. Twisted as it might seem, a high-risk job accompanied by the adrenaline rush of getting away is a highly sought after commodity, not one many people know how to achieve legally unless it warrants sex or drugs. Liam’s found the middle ground by making use of a skill he was given in the military, and even if he just so happens to be breaking one or three laws, well, his previous service on behalf of his country might have a thing or two to say (or not) about it given he’s learned to toe the line from the very best.

Even still, the pounding of his heart might tell a different story, Liam’s nerves battering away at self-preservation and the rational that they’ve gotten away with yet another scheme of crime left under the radar because the governments around the world have failed to realize what they’ve created.

“You taking the case when we split?” Liam asks suddenly, voice sharp and eyes both glued to the road ahead and the rearview mirror in intermittent intervals. From the corner of his eye, Liam sees Harry casually turn his head until his chin is resting on his shoulder; the other man is taking great stock of the headrest, and maybe Liam would enjoy it more if he wasn’t a little twitchy trying to figure out if they’ve got a tail or not.

Both fortunately and unfortunately for Liam this means that Harry is relaxed, and if he doesn’t lighten up soon, Harry will surely comment on his inability to enjoy these moments after an extraction.

“What do you mean?” Harry poses, the length of him stretched out so that his feet are on the dashboard and his fingers are intertwined, resting against his stomach. “Thought we were headed to Oslo, lay low for awhile, maybe find a small job or two?”

Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, Liam finally glances at Harry and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I was going to drop you off somewhere - hotel, airport - so we could head our separate ways, make it harder to be found. Don’t want us linked.”

Harry scoffs. “They’re not going to find us, Liam. We prepared for this job for _weeks_ , and it went like clockwork, nothing we haven’t done before.”

He’s not lying; they’ve been doing extractions for years at this point, a team of rag-tag criminals on the run from anyone who finds out their minds have been fucked with. “Precautions, Harry,” Liam stresses, as if they haven’t been taking those for weeks, as if they’ve not worked endless hours gathering information on their mark. Paired with strategic planning, both Harry and Liam had been thorough in their arrangement to achieve their overall goal: pick the mind of a stockbroker to find out what his next set of stock purchases would be. The client that hired them for the job wanted revenge on an individual who had hired a professional to help with investments, and if that meant both Harry and Liam needed to aid in insider trading in exchange for a generous sum of money, who were they to turn down such an offer?

It was lucrative, at best, and an inconvenience, at worst.

“You’re not leaving me,” is Harry’s reply, confrontational and blunt as if he means leaving no room for argument for either of them. “We walked away without our hands tied, and it’s a waste of a plane trip having to meet up again. I’d like to keep this phone a little longer than a goddamn day.”

To make a point, Liam observes, as much as he can while driving, Harry’s fingers dig into his shirt pocket - because a colorful shirt that’s at least two sizes two big for his body is the only way to dress for a job when that job entails literal dreaming - and pulls out a cheap, burner cell phone. It’s the one Liam had given him after they met up again, insurance that they wouldn’t be traced alongside the convenience of being able to hear Harry’s low timbre over the phone.

“It won’t be for too long,” Liam presses, mouth drawn into a line. His jitters have subsided substantially, but he still wants to make a point of getting out of the country just in case anyone has any questions for him or Harry. His plan, one he thought he’d explained to Harry, was to drop him back at the hotel he’d checked into, keep up his appearance for another day before he’d catch a flight to any destination in the world he wanted. Liam had chosen Oslo for himself, but maybe it’s time to admit that for all his point man skills he brings to their jobs, he sometimes lacks the ability to communicate outside of it. “I’ll head out first, and if you want to meet up in a day or so, that’s fine.”

The hotel is just in sight, a pretty picturesque building of mirrors that don’t distort in the real world. Gleams of light provided by the sun bounce off the glass and onto the scenery of streets and corner shops that play neighbor to Harry’s temporary home.

Liam expects a rebuff from his partner, immediate and telling. It doesn’t come, however, and Liam knows he should feel grateful for the lack of argument from Harry; after all, it’s what they’re known for, their verbal little spats that annoy the two of them more than anyone else on their team - if there is a team brought in for extractions. Born out of admiration, it’s a game they tend to play, maybe a bid at exhibitionism while they’re at it given the curious looks they draw from their chemist or architect.

Turning into the lot, Liam hears Harry shuffle his body around, feet now flat on the floor mat and hand gently resting on the door handle. He’s not looking at Liam, hasn’t really given him much thought since they left their mark in his hotel room after a dream visit from his mistress. Harry had played the part of a forger quite well on that one, Liam’s mild jealousy kept at bay by the determination rather than interest in Harry’s eyes.

Now though, the silence is overwhelming, and Liam recognizes the beginnings of the silent treatment. He’ll most likely receive short, one word answers from here on out, but eventually Harry will come around. It’s a week, tops, before they’ll see each other again, and if Harry’s so inclined, Liam can book them a vacation together if he really wants to get away to spend some time with his boyfriend. For now, Liam understands the ache in his chest of doing something he doesn’t want to do: leave Harry, but for the sake of their safety, and what they do after every job - no matter how high or low the risk - they’ve got to briefly part.

“I’ll see you soon,” Liam murmurs as he pulls up to the front of the hotel. It’s classy, four stars or something because Harry can’t be bothered to spend his life in a motel, not after they’ve pulled off numerous heists and stashed millions away in off-shore bank accounts around the world. He likes his things shiny, even if it is an expensive room meant for more than one party. “Harry, please don’t be-”

“I’m not mad,” Harry replies, cutting Liam off. The tone of his voice betrays his words, and Liam wonders why after all this time, Harry wants to stick together now.

“Would you look at me, darling?” he asks softly, reaching over the console for Harry’s hand. At first, he expects it to be limp and difficult, Harry brushing him aside while he continues to make his point known.

Instead, Harry’s fingers curl around his instantly, the motions deceptive of his overall mood. “I’ll see you in a few days, Liam.”

Closing his eyes, Liam breathes in deep and squeezes Harry’s hand. From there, he still doesn’t get a response, no green eyes turned in apology or even apathy; Harry continues to stare out of the window, watching the sliding doors open and close for other hotel guests. They’re whisked away, enveloped by a cool room away from the heat of the sun and the obnoxious sweat that bubbles to the surface of human skin.

Liam doesn’t say anything else to Harry. He’s done his part in trying to soothe his boyfriend, but there’s no way around what they’ve got to do. The PASIV sits idly in the back seat, and it’s moments like this when Liam feels the weight of what they do on their shoulders, the limited time they get to spend together when they’re on the run or trying to make sure they’re both safe. Harry’s never expressed wanting to leave the business given they’re the best at what they do - even more so when they’re hired for a job _together_ \- but Liam thinks that maybe this is the first time Harry’s come close to admitting he wants out. As far as he can remember, his boyfriend had been excited about the job they were on, showing no indication that going downstairs into the dream world was a burden.

It makes Liam pause, parting his lips for a moment as if he’s willing to bring that question to life, put it out into the air where it will rest like a thorn in their sides.

He can’t bring himself to do it, though, because if Liam’s being honest with himself, he’s not entirely sure he’s willing to leave the underground business they’ve created for themselves. There’s too much thrill, too much excitement and dirty secrets he can use to blackmail people with.

But then he thinks of Harry, and he loses any argument, any defense he has in him because the thought of having to choose between Harry and dream-share is a killer.

Where Harry is, Liam will follow, and it’s as simple as that.

For now, they have to get going.

Liam unbuckles his belt, shifting so that half his body is leaning over the arm rest just to get to his boyfriend. Harry’s always said his lips were meant for more than kissing, and Liam would smirk at the thought if he were anywhere else, but for now he thinks his mouth is good for pressing against Harry’s temple, fingers of his left hand dancing across the structure of Harry’s cheekbone as he cups the side of Harry’s face. “I love you,” he whispers, careful not to expose the open wound his thoughts have dug for him. “I’ll see you soon.”

Harry gives pause but for a brief second before the car door is opening. He slips out of Liam’s grasp easily, only glancing up at Liam through the thick of his lashes, eyes halfway vacant. It stirs something within Liam’s chest, maybe a tiny crack in his heart he feels he should apologize for. So, he smiles as if Harry can read every molecule of his body, the counterparts that make his heart beat and emotions flow.

The other man doesn’t return the favor, but he does nod as if he’ll take Liam’s apology into consideration. Harry leaves Liam alone in the car with the shiny, metal briefcase full of dreams, Somnacin, and the fiery awareness of lingering regret.

+

Liam has one of those epiphanies when he’s not even a minute out from the hotel, and it starts like this: Harry can be larger than life in many ways, but if there’s one comparison Liam could make about the man, is that he’s similar to a lap dog in the sense that his demeanor is closer to passive than uptight like Liam’s. By admitting that, Liam doesn’t want to confuse passiveness as callousness because Harry’s never been either of those things, but he’s sluggish in the way he approaches situations. Certainly, he exudes a confidence it took Liam years to perfect, which makes playing the part of a forger much easier for Harry. Slipping into numerous personas is no easy feat, but Liam recognizes the farce Harry tends to play better than others.

This means that when Harry had blinked at him with large puppy dog eyes, shoulders sagging while debating on kicking a nonexistent rock with the heel of his shoe when Liam left him behind at the hotel, Harry wasn’t entirely playing the part of pity to gain sympathy. He was simply doing it because he felt as such _and_ because he knew that that kind of look would sic it to Liam’s subconsciousness in the ugliest of ways.

Sometimes Liam doesn’t know when he’s being an idiot.

Yet, on the few occasions, he knows when he’s royally fucked up.

+

Part of his mind tells him this is a very bad idea, but Liam’s used to very bad ideas benefiting him more than they’ve fucked him over. It’s how he ended up with a PASIV, a team he can rely on, and a boyfriend that has the same lines of morality as he does. Which is why he winds his way through the hotel, larger than Liam remembers when they’d checked in together on the outskirts of Barcelona, the city their mark both lived and breathed in.

Bypassing reception, the bar, and any other guest trap, Liam heads for the elevator with his briefcase in tow. The tips of his fingers glide over his tie, black to match his suit and very typical of how he approaches all of his jobs. There’s something about the lines and inseam of tailored menswear that keeps him levelheaded in a career that makes them anything but.

Or maybe Liam just keeps up appearances because Harry’s into it, and Liam’s generally into anything he’s into.

By the time the elevator dings, Liam steps onto the fifth floor, breath coming in a little tighter than usual. The nerves are back, not as bad as before, but they’re there because he figures Harry’s going to greet him one of two ways: pull him in and require a fee in exchange for forgiveness, or Harry will simply slam the door in his face and leave him with nothing but his car and a generous drive to the airport.

The room he’s looking for is located on the left wing of the building, slightly secluded from the other rooms because it take up more square inches than necessary for a simple overnight stay. Still, Liam finds where he’s supposed to be - where he should’ve been over twenty minutes ago - but can only find it in himself to stand there looking like a put out husband who’d lost his key and his sanity.

Licking his lips, Liam doesn’t let go of his briefcase; rather he tightens his grip around the handle before knocking on the wood of the door with his knuckles. To his ears, the sound is heavy and dismal, but rationally speaking, he figures the vibrations are reminiscent of housekeeping. The shuffling behind the door causes him to take a step back as if Harry’s already given him an unimpressed look and told him to leave.

What he finds, however, is Harry cracking the door open like he’s wary of potential company, and Liam silently curses himself. The burner phone he bought for himself flashes quickly in his mind, sending a painful reminder that it’s tucked away into the pocket of his trousers. Such a misstep isn’t like him, and the least he could’ve done was warn Harry before making an appearance.

Knowing what it’s like to get a knock on the door after running from a job generally sends pinpricks down his spine, so the first thing out of Liam’s mouth is, “I’m sorry.”

Harry doesn’t immediately respond to Liam’s apology, and one could argue that Liam owes him so many more than just the one. His mouth is dry, and his tongue feels heavier than when he was in the car trying to play reasonable and conscientious - characteristics Liam hardly abides by on a daily basis if he can help it; he’ll do what’s right according him and his own, aiming for post-conventional morality above all else.

The silence between the two of them stretches for a beat too long, however, until Liam lets go of his breath on an exhale. He bows his head, a shameful pose, and he’s gearing up to make amends out in the goddamn hallway when he feels an insistent tug on his tie. Liam catches the movement of flesh, slightly tan and boney before he’s being hauled into the room by the labels of his jacket.

In those few seconds, he’s dropped the PASIV, has been slammed up against the hotel room door, and his mouth has suddenly become occupied.

“Can’t believe I’m going to let you fuck me,” Harry’s saying, teeth biting at Liam’s lower lip. It causes pain and blood to swell to the surface, but Liam, of course, doesn’t mind this, not as much as he’s impressed with Harry sliding his hands just under his jacket and shoving the material off his body in a hasty pursuit to get what he wants.

“Harry, I-”

“Shut up,” Harry practically growls, fingers making quick work of the buttons on Liam’s shirt. “You being sensible will be the death of _us_ one of these days.”

Liam helps him with the shirt, knowing that if Harry is impatient enough, he’ll do his best to literally ruin the stitching of his expensive-as-fuck attire. It’s not as if Liam couldn’t afford another set of clean, crisp, white shirts, but practically speaking, he likes his wardrobe intact - especially for the morning given he doesn’t have an extra of clothes with him.

Halfway naked and a little needy, he doesn’t wait for Harry to get his hands on his belt before he’s pulling the leather through the loops of his trousers, the metal buckle clanking together as it hits the floor with a hard thud. After that, Liam turns his attention to Harry, practically swimming in the robe provided by the hotel; it’s also when Liam realizes he hadn’t paid attention to Harry’s attire when he’d opened the door, too dead set on making amends than focusing on undressing his boyfriend.

Tattoos peak out from underneath the cotton robe, a short little number that makes Liam’s eyes dilate with want, and it never ceases to amaze him how much he always _wants_. Harry has always made Liam want more than he thought he could have, proved to him that life wasn’t always about lines and meticulous routines filled with mundane afterthoughts of what he could’ve, should’ve done.

Really, if anything, Harry’s taught him to live without regrets, and as satisfying as that has been thus far in his life, Liam knows trouble when he sees it.

And thank god he gave trouble a chance.

He moves faster than Harry has time to process his next move, guiding him to the bed until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. If Harry thought he’d have the upper hand just because Liam ended up a little sidetracked with safety precautions, then he’s got another thing coming.

After toeing off his shoes, Liam shoves Harry’s shoulder, watches as he falls back onto the bed before he’s climbing over his body. The robe is still tied around Harry’s waist, a loose knot that plays with the idea of coming undone. Yet, Liam waits for that; instead, his hand slides up the edge of the garment, a brush of fingers against the top of Harry’s thigh. The other man sucks in a breath, hair fanned around his head, jaw flexing in ways that lets Liam know his boyfriend wants a word in, but he’s finding the notion of verbal communication on the difficult side of things.

“Is that all you want from me, darling?” Liam says, adding in the pet name just to see Harry’s throat work around a swallow. “A quick fuck and no conversation?”

Blinking as if to gain focus, Harry’s mouth curls into a sardonic smile. “Funny, it’s all you wanted to do when we were in the car.”

Liam pinches Harry then, cheeky bastard that he is, but the sound of his boyfriend’s throaty laughter is similar to a melody for him. The thought of simmering down the overall attitude that eventually came alongside the illegal activities Liam loved to indulge in was never a question in his mind until he found that his heart wasn’t nearly as stone cold as he always believed it to be. Indifferent, maybe, but Liam’s relief at _feeling_ something was welcomed with open arms.

“Point taken,” he murmurs, closing in on Harry’s throat, sucking at the point where shoulder and neck meet. His hands travel further up the robe, pushing the material a little higher until Harry’s hip is exposed; his body is hot beneath Liam’s, and he knows the exact moment Harry pushes up into his hand, aching for more. “Tell me what you want, then.”

Harry whines, as if that’s an effective way of communication, and Liam muffles his laughter by kissing over his collarbone. “Finish what I started, _Liam_ ,” Harry demands, sharp and practiced like there will definitely be consequences if Liam doesn’t do as he’s told.

Humming, Liam nips at Harry’s skin, teeth marks left behind with red discoloration in its wake. “And what would that be, love?”

“What did you think I was doing before I answered the door?”

“Fuck,” Liam whispers, eyes widening before he pushes back onto his knees. Harry’s legs are spread, the length of him still covered by the hotel robe, and Liam would think of it as a menace if he wasn’t aiming for something else, something more profound. Carefully, he bunches up the fabric, slides his fingers over the heat of Harry’s cock; it gives a small jerk, sensitive and swollen, though as much as Liam would like to play, there’s another destination he's after.

Coming into contact with Harry’s ass is always a pleasurable experience, but the fact that Liam already finds him wet with lube and a little less tight… “ _Fuck_ ,” he chokes out, index finger catching on the rim while Harry wriggles above him for more. “Fuck, you were _playing_ with yourself.”

With the last word in the air, Liam watches as Harry finally unties the robe, the material giving way thanks to Harry pushing the fabric until it lies haphazardly against his sides. “Been busy for weeks,” Harry states, sitting up and reaching for the buttons on Liam’s trousers. He still has them on; the only difference with them now is that his cock is hard, and the line of it can be seen straining against the material. “Had to learn how to seduce the fucking mark before thinking about sneaking off with you. Such a shame, really; could’ve done it in that closet at the safe house we chose. Pretty sure it was well ventilated, could’ve let everyone know you were eating me out.”

Liam bristles, a crystal clear image of the little storage closet with hardly in space, a half-dressed, fully frazzled Harry leaning up against the wall with Liam on his knees and tongue deep in his boyfriend. “You and your goddamn mouth.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, glancing up at Liam with tenacity, “me and my _goddamn_ mouth.”

And then he’s swallowing Liam down like the length of him isn’t a problem. Liam almost falls, but he catches himself by leaning on Harry’s shoulder because fuck, Harry makes quick work when he’s after something he really wants. Liam’s no exception, but Harry’s mouth is hot and wet, and absolutely everything Liam wants right now. Part of his brain laughs at him, coming to the conclusion that he really, really almost let this go, and that if he had continued to dry, he’d be on a plane to Norway of all places, rather than here with Harry as he flicks his tongue and sucks Liam closer to a high very few have ever been able to take him to.

Eventually, Liam’s hand finds its way to the back of Harry’s head, fingers curling around tufts of hair. He pulls, gently at first, which causes Harry to moan so low, and Liam feels it. It nearly sends him over the edge because if there’s anything or anyone that’s able to make Liam come within a few, short minutes, it’s Harry and his ability to make Liam feel things he didn’t think were possible.

Rather than resting there, Liam finally finds the willpower to cup Harry’s jaw, thumb rubbing against the bone before lightly tapping the space where mouth meets cock. Harry pulls back, licking at the tip of Liam’s cock in small strokes before he gives up, beaming up at Liam because he’s proud of himself. “Love that you can’t last long when I’m blowing you, Liam,” Harry teases, aiming to be a filthy little thing Liam will eventually have to shut up.

It’s never an insult because Liam knows it’s true - they both know it’s true; Liam finds it hard to last in instances like this, but he smirks with the knowledge that Harry doesn’t find it a burden either. In fact, “You say that as if you don’t enjoy me coming down your throat, or better yet, when I come on your face.”

Harry’s eyes darken, and Liam sees the moment he moves to touch his cock, swathed within the robe with just the tip of him barely peaking out.

Before Harry can though, Liam grabs him by the wrist. Discarding the fact that Harry has two hands to work with, and neither of them thinking of it extensively, Liam eventually says, “Touch yourself, and I’ll jack myself off while you lick me clean, or you can keep your hands free, and I’ll fuck you full. Your choice.”

In the blink of an eye, Harry’s mouth parts, and it’s not because he has a ready answer. It’s more like the rainbow wheel has come to visit his brain, and Liam smirks because he’s generally the reason for Harry’s undoing just the same as he is Liam’s.

“You don’t play very fair,” Harry claims, but his words fall short without the zeal behind it.

Shuffling away from Liam, Harry reaches the far end of the bed, closer to the pillows before he’s beckoning Liam to follow. Liam listens because why the hell not, making himself at home between Harry’s thighs. This time, it’s Harry that cups the back of Liam’s head, pulls him down close to connect their lips. They fall into that pattern easily, tongues brushing over plump lips, scraping teeth, and wet sounds, like either of them need more than a taste of each other to survive. Liam’s aware that they’re not always so desperate, but it seems like this job exhausted them in more ways than one. Touch starved is hardly what either of them would describe the slow burn of grinding hips and Liam reaching between them to pinch at one of Harry’s nipples, but it absolutely feels like it. Liam can’t stop touching, and Harry’s nails dig into the back of Liam’s neck like he might pull apart and leave him wanton for more.

“‘m gonna fuck you now,” Liam says in between a delicate set of kisses, some to the side of Harry’s mouth, some placed just underneath his chin. It’ll be interesting to see how the bruises bloom across Harry’s skin; tan as he is the assortment of blues, purples, and greens always manage to stir Liam’s primal instinct of possession.

Neither of them belong to each other as such, and both of them have their own boundaries, but Liam’s also fully aware when Harry drowns in his begging, when he’s underneath Liam and moaning that he’s intrinsically Liam’s. It sets fire to Liam’s belly, to his nerves, and short-circuits his brain in such a way that leaves him both satisfied and thoroughly grateful.

With both cocks trapped against their bellies, Liam gives one last grind before slightly pulling away to press the tip of his cock against Harry’s hole. The shuttering sigh Harry gives beneath him is plenty indication that he’s ready, head turned, eyes closed, and waiting for the moment Liam sinks into him.

Liam doesn't make him wait long; mainly because he can hardly delay the feel of Harry’s heat surrounding him, guiding him. Liam pushes in with ease, partially grateful that he hadn’t had to work Harry open with his fingers. The sight, of course, would’ve been delightful, Liam even going for a taste or two, but knowing the first thing Harry did when he got back to his hotel room was finger-fuck himself, well, Liam counts down from ten just so he won’t cum too soon… again.

Pushing in, Liam watches Harry carefully for any signs of protest, but all he finds are Harry’s fingers curling into the sheets beneath him, thighs spread, and chest heavy with breath. Liam fills Harry slowly, dangerously close to the edge, and it’s only when he’s fully seated that Harry’s whine bursts through the confines of any restraint he had told himself he needed. The sound is low, almost choked by too much pleasure - if there ever is such a thing - so Liam gathers Harry close, pulls out just a little before he fucks back into Harry’s heat.

Liam takes his time unraveling the man underneath him. Instead of fast, he goes slow, drawing out Harry’s release with the hope that his nerves will thank Liam later. The bed doesn’t shake like the foundation will fall, but Liam’s careful with his slow grind and the fact that he keeps a close hand on Harry’s hip. Meanwhile, Harry’s gathered enough strength to match Liam’s thrusts with his own hips, not wanting to be complacent in the act of fucking when he’s just as eager to get his share, if not more so. His cock brushes against Liam’s belly, leaving behind a trail of pre-cum and friction that manages to provoke the curling of toes.

“Right there, Liam, fuck,” Harry manages to choke out, urging Liam to take what he can get because he’s enjoying it all the same.

Liam tightens his hold on Harry, fingers digging into skin, which will surely leave even more bruises behind. Then, he leans down to capture a nipple between his teeth; Liam tugs, gently as he can before licking, continuing his thrusts with a little added strength because Harry’s grabbing at him, hands dancing down his arms, trailing down towards his ass in a silent maneuver that lets Liam know not to stop.

At this point, Liam’s only got so much control. Every sense he owns is filled with Harry, thoughts of Harry, scent, and taste, and Liam almost feels suffocated if it weren’t for the fact that Harry’s gazing at him with green eyes blown wide and red lips bitten from the abrade of his teeth. It indicates that Harry’s just as twined as he is, just as lost, just as fucked both physically and mentally, but it’s satisfying, to say the least.

Liam leans down and kisses Harry, full of teeth and tongue, hips gone rogue and stuttering from lack of control. The rhythm’s been lost for a beat, but Harry won’t hold Liam accountable for that, not when he finds Liam’s hand and pushes it between their bodies, compelling Liam to finally touch him in more than one place. Harry’s cock is hard and dripping, red and curled when Liam finally touches him. Liam knows Harry is thick, but wrapping his palm around him reminds him of that even more so, as if maybe he’d forgotten what his lover looked like, felt like.

The thought is startling, as if Liam could ever forget, but maybe he means to think that every time he’s allowed to touch Harry, it’s always a surprise. Liam twists his hand up to the tip of Harry’s cock, giving it a good feel while Harry rests his head on the pillow of the bed, watching Liam’s every move as best he can.

With the sudden change of actions, Liam had stalled for a moment in his thrusts, but he picks up again, cock now covered in lube, keeping Harry open and pliant beneath him. Alongside his movements, Liam now works Harry into a frenzied kind of state, one that leaves his boyfriend a pile of limbs and high moans.

“Feel so good, darling,” Liam whispers into Harry’s ear, pressing a string of kisses along his hairline. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

“Close, Liam,” Harry answers, eventually bringing their lips together in another heated kiss. Harry’s cheeks are flushed from fucking and even more so because he still has on the hotel robe. The material’s fanned out around him now, almost like a billowy cloud in the sky, but Harry already feels the twist of pleasure, the height of it all trailing down his spine, so he figures there’s no point in stopping their movements just to let his skin breath.

Liam gives just a few more tugs to Harry’s cock, focusing on the slit by smearing the pre-cum around with his thumb and down the shaft. He’s sloppy when he does it, slow and fumbled, but all it takes is a tight squeeze and one more flick of Liam’s wrist before Harry’s arching beneath him, curling away from the mattress while his cock spurts cum across his tummy.

With that sudden act, with Harry coiled and releasing, Liam feeling Harry tighten around his length, he only manages another thrust or two, clumsy and hasty before he too joins Harry in his orgasm. Liam cums with Harry’s name on his lips, hips stuttering and fucking deep into his boyfriend as he lets himself go and fills Harry up just like he promised and just like Harry wanted.

Together they’re breathing deeply, Liam continuing to hold his weight above Harry for the inevitable moment when he’s calm enough to pull out and find his place by Harry’s side. Although for those few moments, tucked between Harry’s shoulder and his neck, lips pressed against glowing skin, Liam feels everything relax around him. The pressure between them, the ‘I told you so’ on Harry’s tongue, and the fact that they’re labeled with more than simple words like boyfriend and boyfriend, fades away. It curls into something soft, and Liam knows it’s the gratifying notion of being in each others presence without anyone else around them.

Liam eventually pulls away, reluctantly, but he’s going soft, and they need to clean up before tucking themselves away for the rest of the day and into the early hours of the morning when they’ll need to leave the room behind them.

“I hope you know,” Harry begins when Liam begins rubbing circles on his boyfriend’s thigh with his index finger, “that it’s going to take more than a good fuck to make up for your lousy decision.”

Liam winces, but he smiles nonetheless. “You mean to tell me my dick hasn’t made you forget that?”

With narrowed eyes, Harry’s quick when he pushes Liam with his foot, causing him to fall over onto his side with laughter emitting from the depth of his chest.

“You might be good, Liam,” Harry starts, sitting up with a cringe. Liam glances at Harry while he moves, perched on the side of the bed where he can see the beginnings of his cum trickling from Harry’s ass. “But I’m never forgetful.”

Watching Harry trying to climb off the bed without making a mess - which isn’t going to happen no matter how hard either of them try - springs him into action, climbing off the bed so he can lend Harry a hand. The bed isn’t that high up off the ground, but Liam hardly feels clammy and just the touch of Harry is intoxicating.

“Of course not,” Liam agrees, leaving behind his teasing tone. Instead of leading Harry straight to the shower, he pauses when his boyfriend is in front of him, sweat-slicked hair and rosy from their activities. Liam tugs on the loose tie of the robe Harry still wears before helping him off with it, ending with a simple, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you earlier.”

Harry shrugs like it’s not a big deal; really he was only having a moment of selfishness. “As a point man, it’s your job to keep us safe,” Harry replies, mirth peeking through the corner of his eyes. “Sometimes you worry too much, but I suppose it comes with the territory.”

Liam appreciates Harry admitting his lack judgment, and he knows that if he were to say anymore, try to apologize profusely, Harry will then hold that against him. So with that, Liam gives a quick nod, takes Harry’s hand in his before leading them both to the bathroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, darling,” Liam says with finality, making a point that bygones will be bygones and that they’re in this together for better or worse.

The only indication Liam needs after that, that they’ll be alright from here on out is the squeeze Harry gives his hand.


End file.
